


Is It Really So Much To Ask?

by Doodlelupin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Author Projecting onto Martin Blackwood, Gen, Martin Blackwood Has ADHD, Mentioned Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Mentioned Sasha James, Trans Martin Blackwood, i can do what i want, leave me alooooone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodlelupin/pseuds/Doodlelupin
Summary: Martin has a headache and a sink full of dishes.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Is It Really So Much To Ask?

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally just me venting instead of asking my roommate to do the dishes lmao this is not intended to be like. good writing

Martin rubbed his eyes. His head was pounding, a low, dull ache right behind his eyes. He groaned softly. This is  _ not _ how he wanted to wake up.

He grabbed his phone off of the box of statements he was using as a makeshift bedside table. The bright light did not help his headache, but it usually helped wake him up a bit before he had to interact with other people. He scrolled through various apps, seeing how the average, non-worm-lady-haunted folks were doing for a bit. At some point, he decided he was sufficiently awake and his head hurt enough to force himself out of bed to get some coffee. He got out of the cot a little too fast, his head rushing. He had to grab the shelf to steady himself for a moment. 

“Ow.” He muttered under his breath, pressing on his right temple. He squinted at the “nightstand” to find his glasses. He was liking the new wire frames, but they were harder to find. “Jinkies,” he mumbled, laughing at his own dumb joke. He had to bend down to pick them up, which his head did not appreciate. He winced, grabbing his pj pants and binder off the floor while he was already doubled over. He didn't want to lean down again. He slipped his glasses onto his face and pulled his binder and pants on. He pulled his t-shirt back on, trying to pat his hair down into something that wasn’t too ridiculous before he bumped into anyone. It was only 7, but some of his co-workers got to work rather early.

He slipped some shoes on and left his worm bunker. He ducked into the bathroom across the hall, unable to stop thinking about his hair. It looked better than he’d thought, but it was a bit of a mess. The hair on his left side had been flattened out a bit, while the right remained curly. He ran his hands under the tap, wetting the left side and scrunching it, hoping that would help. He wet the right side a bit to even it out. Somewhat satisfied, he headed out to the break room.

He groaned as he opened the door to see the sink full. Well, full might not be the right word. It wasn’t overflowing or anything, but there definitely weren't any clean mugs. Everyone was supposed to clean their own dishes but that rarely happened. They’d gotten into a cycle, though Martin tended to do more than his share. The others didn’t seem as bothered by it. To be fair, they also got to go home to their own dishes. Martin barely used dishes though. He ate mostly packaged food and though he did drink his fair share of tea, he usually reused the same mug so it rarely ended up in the sink.

So when Martin sees the sink full, no mugs on the shelf, and his head is pounding, most likely from caffeine withdrawal? It’s almost enough to make him scream in frustration. He settles for an irritated growl and slumps at the table, head in his hands. It’s Tim’s turn. It’s  _ been _ Tim’s turn for days. Sasha rarely lets the sink get this bad. Jon doesn’t use the break room dishes enough to qualify for a “turn”. Tim, however, is either horribly forgetful or neglectful. Martin doesn’t know which but it’s infuriating either way. All he wanted was a cup of tea or coffee, something to quiet the pounding in his head. Instead, he’s just got more of a headache. 

Martin’s torn as to whether or not he should do the dishes. On one hand, it would probably only take a few minutes. On the other, if he keeps letting Tim slide by without doing them, he’s going to get used to not having to do his share and just exacerbate the problem.

It wouldn’t be so big of an issue if doing the dishes wasn’t Martin’s least favourite task. Bending over the sink always made his back hurt, and he hated touching wet food, especially other people’s. He didn’t like getting his hands wet for as long as it took to get the dishes done, but he had been mocked enough times for wearing gloves that he’d stopped. He knew they were joking but he didn’t like being mocked. (Plus, the water always managed to get inside anyway, so it wasn't a huge sacrifice.) But worst of all was the feeling of his nails scraping on the wet dishes. He had no idea what that was about, probably some sensory problem because of his ADHD, but it was like nails on chalkboard. He was getting horrible chills up his spine just thinking about it. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, hoping he could get rid of the sensation in his fingertips.

“See? This is why I hate doing the dishes.” He muttered to himself, burying his head deeper in his arms. He did also try to keep the house clean so his mother would have less reasons to hate him, but that’s not a subject he wanted to broach at the moment. He didn’t know what he was waiting for. There hadn’t been a mug yesterday, either (which is probably why his head hurt so much today). Tim probably wasn’t going to do the dishes today unless Martin outright asked. He had texted the group chat yesterday asking whose turn it was, hoping Tim would own up but he simply responded “idk”. Martin wasn’t sure whether he actually didn’t know or was just pretending. But because he’d asked, he couldn’t say “oh it's actually your turn” because then it’d be obvious he was being passive-aggressive.

He was clearly over-thinking this but he couldn't help it. It’s just what he did. Instead of doing anything, he just sat and thought about it until someone told him to do something else.

“Alright, Mart-o?” Martin heard the door swing open and Tim drop his bag beside the table. Martin hummed in response. He heard Tim stop. “You sure?” Martin paused. He didn’t want to dump all of this on him.

“Got a headache.” He said.

“Aw, sorry ‘bout that. Anything I can do?” Tim asked. The dishes. If Martin asked that, would Tim ask him why? Would he have to elaborate? He wasn’t sure he’d have the energy to elaborate but he didn’t want to seem rude by immediately asking Tim to start his workday off with a chore but his head hurt and he was so anxious and-

“The dishes.” He blurted out. “Please? I need coffee.” 

“Yeah, no problem!” Tim responded, gently ruffling his hair. Martin silently breathed a sigh of relief. Tim hummed while he washed the dishes, pausing for a moment to turn on the coffee maker before getting back to work. Bless him. A few minutes later, Tim sat down across from Martin, placing 2 steaming cups of coffee on the table.

“2 cream, 2 sugar, right?” Tim asked, sliding one cup closer to Martin.

“Oh, um-yeah! Thanks, Tim.” Martin was always caught off guard when people remembered things about him. He took the cup in both hands warming his chilled fingers. He hadn’t realized he’d been cold. He took a tiny sip, burning his tongue. He didn’t care. It tasted perfect and he could feel his headache melting away already. 


End file.
